Survivors of Breast Cancer May Still Struggle with Fear of Recurrence

Bonnie Annis is a breast cancer survivor, diagnosed in 2014 with stage 2b invasive ductal carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph nodes. Catch up on all of Bonnie's blogs here!

This year has been flying by! As I turn to the new month on my calendar, I see several medical appointments jotted in red. Most of those are routine visits, but there’s one I’m dreading — my annual visit to the cancer treatment center. This will be my 11th visit, and since I’ve been going there, I’ve had four different oncologists. Each time I’d get familiar with one, they’d transfer to another medical facility. It was challenging and often left me feeling unsure about my care, but the center is well-staffed, and I knew they’d assign me to another great doctor, so I didn’t worry much. This time I’ll meet another new doctor. Hopefully, she’ll stick around for a while!

Throughout the year, I barely give a thought to cancer except in the month of October when breast cancer awareness is prevalent due to all the commercialism. During the other months, I go about my life doing the things I enjoy, but sometimes, especially when I have an odd pain, a little thought pops into my head, “What if it’s cancer?” Most recently, this happened during a follow-up visit for hiatal hernia repair surgery. During an endoscopy, the doctor told me he found several growths in my stomach and wanted to biopsy them. The first emotion I felt was fear. I’d never known anyone with stomach cancer before; what if it was cancer? I couldn’t help wondering what I’d do if the biopsies came back positive. I wondered, “Would I take chemotherapy this time?” “Would I survive another cancer?” As those thoughts kept bombarding my brain, I had to give myself a reality check. I needed to be present instead of worrying about the future. I started to have a conversation with myself — a little positive self-talk — “You’ll be okay! There’s no reason to worry about what might be. Worrying doesn’t change anything.” Telling myself those things helped me get past that moment of fear, and I was glad.

Fear of recurrence is normal for cancer survivors. Living past diagnosis allows a person to experience hope, but there are those who will experience anxiety due to the trauma of the first bout with cancer.

I always thought I could trust my body. It had never let me down for any length of time before cancer. Oh, I had some small surgeries and illnesses but knew those weren’t life-threatening. Cancer was vastly different. When I was told I had cancer, instantly I knew it was serious, and I could die.

The first year or two after diagnosis, I felt I was walking on eggshells. I thought any moment; I’d get news that the cancer hadn’t been irradicated by surgery and radiation. I prepared for the worst but hoped for the best. Then, when I passed the five-year mark, I started to relax and breathe a little. I’d heard 5 was the magic number for breast cancer survivors. If you made it that far, chances were you’d be okay. I didn’t quite believe that though. I knew someone who’d been cancer-free for twenty-two years before her cancer came back, and I couldn’t help but think how devastating that would be.

When I passed the 10-year mark, I really let out a sigh. I told my husband and my children I was cured. Saying it out loud helped me believe it to be so. I wanted it to be true, with all my heart, I wanted it. And that’s when I began to wonder…if I’ve been cancer-free for eleven years now, why do I have to keep going back for annual checkups? Will I ever be completely discharged from care?

On my most recent visit to the endocrinologist, she told me I was due for another bone scan. I’m getting close to 70, and she likes me to have one every few years because of severe osteoporosis. She asked when I’d be going back to the cancer treatment center, and I told her I had an upcoming appointment. She asked me if the oncologist didn’t order a DEXA scan to let her know, and she’d order it. The concern in her voice triggered me. Once again, I began to wonder how I’d react to hearing the news that cancer had returned. As I left her office, I told my husband about her statement. He told me not to worry about it. “Just take one day at a time,” he said. “You can’t worry about tomorrow.” And I know he’s right.

Hopefully, when I step into the cancer treatment center on Wednesday, I won’t freak out. Normally, when I walk down the halls and see scores of people in various forms of treatment, I get triggered. I don’t like seeing bald, gaunt women holding on to IV poles as they shuffle slowly past. I feel guilty when our eyes meet, and I see the “I wish I was as healthy as you” look in their eyes. When that happens, I do my best to offer the sweetest smile I can muster and say something kind to them.

Sometimes I think cancer has caused me to hyperfocus on my body. Any new ache or pain can bring about thoughts of recurrence. I don’t know if I have it or if it even exists, but I assume I have a form of medical PTSD thanks to cancer. At least I’m more aware of that possibility now, and I try to find things that occupy my mind. Art has become my go-to when I feel anxious or concerned about the possibility of recurrence. Doing something special for me each day helps push negative thoughts away.

Thoughts of recurrence have waned over the years, but every now and then, they’ll pop up, especially when I hear of a friend who’s been newly diagnosed or when I see some commercial on TV about a new cancer drug. Maybe one of these days, I won’t pay attention to cancer at all. I’d sure like that day to come, and I know many others would, too.

There are so many things in our lives we can’t control. I’m learning to accept that I can’t control my body any more than I can control time. I can control my attitude, though, and I’ve chosen to look for the positive in the negative. By doing that, I feel a little stronger each day.

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